


The Proper Use of Blankets

by mabyn, spaceAltie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Artists, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabyn/pseuds/mabyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceAltie/pseuds/spaceAltie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine challenges Arthur to survive 6 months without his father's financial support. Arthur agrees to the bet, but he doesn't anticipate how difficult--or how fun--it will be to move in with Merlin. Art/fic collaboration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proper Use of Blankets

**Author's Note:**

> Art/fic collaboration. Special thanks to albymangroves for the beta.
> 
> Please don't repost the art without permission. You can find it on [Tumblr](http://spacealtie.tumblr.com/post/80498408715/the-proper-use-of-blankets-merlin-bbc-modern) or [DA](http://aureliebm.deviantart.com/art/The-Proper-Use-of-Blankets-Merlin-BBC-442478523)

"You wouldn't last a day without dear old daddy taking care of you." Gwaine leaned back in self-satisfaction and raised his pint.

Arthur often had a drink with him after work, and he had long grown used to the teasing, which was nothing more than Gwaine's particular way of showing his affection. After four years by Arthur's side, first at uni, and then now, as they both started new jobs in the city, Gwaine had more than proved his loyalty.

"It's not my father takes care of me, it's the cook, the maid, and the butler, if you must know," Arthur said to rankle him.

"Now that's revolting. You probably can't even fry an egg."

"I'm not a total incompetent. I elect luxury."

Gwaine snorted in mock disdain. "A week and you'd collapse from hunger."

"I sense a challenge."

"Challenge you want? How about six months of living on your own. No help from the great Lord your father. No cook, maid, or butler. Just you, suffering like the rest of us lot. If you fail, your punishment is to scrub my flat clean. Wearing panties and knee pads."

Arthur raised his eyebrow. He'd never bowed out of a challenge. "And if I win?"

"Then I'll wear the knee pads," Gwaine said with a mischievous grin.

"And the panties," Arthur prompted.

"You drive a hard bargain."

Arthur held out his hand, enjoying the image already. "You've got a deal."

* 

"This isn't going to work out."

If Arthur was going to live without even a pound from his father for the next six months and win the bet with Gwaine, he needed a level playing field. This, he thought as he dropped the heavy boxes onto the floor and assessed the one bedroom flat bestrewn with unwashed dishes, was not a level playing field.

The uni student standing uncomfortably in the middle of the sitting room was fit, Arthur had to admit, with his dark bushy mop of hair and lovely carved cheekbones, but that didn't excuse him from being such an utter pig. He gestured to the pile of laundry on the sofa and the empty pizza box on the table. "I'd meant to tidy before you arrived, honest, but I'm supposed to finish these drafts by Monday."

Arthur sighed. The truth was, his so-called job at his father's law firm was little more than a glorified internship, and London was expensive. Really expensive. After he realised living on his own was not an option, he'd scoured the flatmate listings in The Gay Times, and Merlin was the only one who responded to his inquiry without emailing back a selfie. Instead, he'd sent snapshots of what had appeared to be a much cleaner, much bigger flat, and being located in a hip neighbourhood, Arthur had jumped on the offer. Now he wished he'd been less hasty.

"What happened to your last flatmate?" Arthur asked as he strode past Merlin into the bedroom they would share. It smelled vaguely of feet. The bed was buried beneath a mountain of art supplies, and crumpled-up balls of paper trailed across the floor to the edge of the second bed, which was no more than five feet away. It would be a tight squeeze.

"We had… different interpretations of cleanliness."

"You mean you drove him out with the mess."

Merlin opened his mouth, only to close it again.

"Right," said Arthur, dragging an extra blanket from his bag. "Do you have any rope?"

"Erm," Merlin mumbled, flushing, "what exactly are you—"

"Jesus, no — I'm just going to hang a curtain to preserve my last shred of privacy. And sanity."

"So you'll stay then?" Merlin asked hopefully.

Arthur cast him a weary look. "Unless you want to see me in panties and knee pads, I have no choice."

Merlin's eyes went wide.

By the end of the night, Arthur's clothes were folded neatly in his new dresser, his bed was made (complete with slippers tucked beside it), and his favourite football graced the shelf by the window. Most importantly, a heavy blanket draped over a long rope now divided the room into two equal parts: his tidy area, and Merlin's messy one.

Exhausted from his efforts, Arthur fell asleep to the sound of Merlin scribbling, deep into the night.

*

Arthur survived the first couple of months on bravado alone. He overlooked Merlin's habit of leaving unwashed dishes around the flat, decided the bustle from the street was exciting rather than disruptive, and enjoyed the unexpected freedom of coming home whenever he pleased without being met by his father's disapproving frown or the servants' knowing looks. He thanked Gwaine for inspiring him to live on his own sooner than he might've otherwise, and his triumph was sweetened by the flummoxed expression on Gwaine's face when he gloated over the pride of independence.

But lately, Arthur thought as he lay in bed one night, listening to Merlin's pencils scratch against the page and the rain tap against the window, things had started to change. He'd grown weary of eating the same meal of sausages and potatoes—the only one he could manage—every night, and on his meagre salary the nightlife he'd once enjoyed gave way to lonely evenings in front of the telly. The inconsistent dribble of water from the shower ceased to charm; the peeling paint of the walls no longer made him feel like a romantic character living in a novel.

But worse of all were the peculiarities of his flatmate. Arthur pressed a pillow over his face to block out the light radiating from Merlin's side of the blanket that hung between them, behind which Merlin would stay up until the wee hours working on his art.

"When are you going to sleep?"

The scratching paused, and then Merlin's voice penetrated through the curtain. "Is the light bothering you?"

"No, it's fine. Just, why can't you sleep at a normal hour?" asked Arthur, his words muffled by the pillow. Thunder rumbled through the walls. It was going to be a bad one.

There was a crash as something heavy fell to the ground, followed by footsteps. Arthur peeked out from beneath the pillow to find Merlin standing sheepishly at the foot of his bed. A ratty old t-shirt clung to his angular frame and his sleep trousers looked soft enough to touch. From his half-hooded eyes Arthur guessed he was growing sleepy despite his stubborn insistence on finishing his drawing, and his hair was messier than usual, as if he'd been tugging on it as he worked. Scolding Merlin for keeping them both awake would be like chastising a puppy for being too excited. He was so bloody irritating Arthur half-wanted to strangle him.

"You're on my side of the curtain."

"Sorry, it's just you seemed bothered. I know I'm a wreck, but there's a lot on my mind, squeezing in time to finish my projects after work and all, I mean, my last flatmate never minded—"

"I'm not—look, it's not just this one time, it's the late nights, the forgetfulness, the mess. If it were an occasional thing, I'd understand, but, seriously, how can you live like this? Do you know when I got home today there was a bowl of half-eaten oatmeal in the loo? Never mind, I don't need to know the details," Arthur said when Merlin tried to protest. His flatmate would exhaust even Arthur's own crew of servants. "It would help if you tidied, even once in awhile."

"I'll try to do better."

"Fine."

"Ok."

Merlin continued to stand there. This was an absurd discussion to be having at three in the morning, especially when Arthur had to wake up early for work. He propped himself up on his elbows, about to ask Merlin what was really going on, but as he did so his bedsheets slipped and revealed his bare chest. Arthur didn't miss the progress of Merlin's eyes.

"Are you checking me out?" Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Course not, don't be such a prat."

"You were checking me out," Arthur repeated, more certain now. The accusation, at least, was enough to drive Merlin back to his side of the room and bring the awkward interaction to an end. The lights flickered in the storm one last time before Merlin switched them off. He wasn't so bad, mostly.

"G'night, Merlin," Arthur murmured.

*

The rain continued unabated all the following day, and the winds picked up, shuttling the leftover beer bottles on the street into Arthur's path as he walked to the station. At the office he gazed out the window at the downpour, wondering when it would let up, and thought of Merlin probably bunking class and nestled in bed, still asleep from his long night, his drawing pencils abandoned on the pillow beside him. If Merlin wasn't such a pain in the arse, they might even be friends; it'd be a perfect day to sit in front of the telly and watch a film together, when he could finally unwind from the stress at work. Arthur chewed on the end of his pencil and cursed himself for entertaining such ridiculous thoughts.

The storm worsened as the day went on, and by the time Arthur arrived back home, waterlogged and exhausted, he was so famished even the sausages he'd come to despise seemed appetising.

"Hey, you're back,' said Merlin as he walked through the door. "And wet."

"It's a mess out there." Arthur dripped water all over the entryway. His button-down clung to his skin and once again he thought he caught Merlin staring. "I'm starved. Going to change into something dry and—"

The lights in the flat buzzed and went out.

"Shit," they both said at the same time, and laughed.

"What just happened?" asked someone with a deep voice from the bedroom.

"Electricity's out," Merlin called back.

"Who's that?" Arthur asked, a strange discomfort uncurling in his stomach.

A tall bloke with intimidating muscles walked into the sitting room, leaned against the sofa as if he owned it, and folded his arms across his chest. His hair was closely cropped and he had ear piercings so wide they stretched the lobes, and Arthur wondered why anyone would go through the trouble of wearing a t-shirt with sleeves cut at the shoulder. Was he some kind of pro-wrestler or just a miscreant? And more importantly, why the hell had Merlin brought him to their flat? The man was looking Arthur up and down with the smile of a self-satisfied cat who'd just gobbled a mouse. Everything about him rankled Arthur.

"Hi. I'm Percy, and you must be the legendary Arthur."

Arthur's well-bred politeness kicked in, for even if he would never entertain someone like this in his own home, Merlin obviously wanted him there. He was fit, Arthur had to admit, even if his sense of fashion was wanting, and was without doubt the kind of rebellious, masculine type that must, he realised, appeal to Merlin. Arthur glanced down at his own arms, which he decided were quite muscular enough.

"Yes, that's right. Lovely to meet you. I'd offer you a cuppa, but as you can see, the  
electricity's out."

"Quite all right, thanks for asking." Percy glanced over at Merlin, who shifted uncomfortably. They probably both wished Arthur would disappear, and for his part, Arthur wanted nothing more. He would make his excuses and be done with it.

"Well! I'm knackered. Going to go crash in the bedroom." Arthur flushed, realising Merlin and Percy had just come from there and would probably wish to return to it. Now that he inspected him, Merlin did seem more dishevelled than usual, and he wondered if the mark on Merlin's neck was new or if it had always been there, hidden by his scarf. He imagined Percy taking off Merlin's clothes piece by piece, laying him down on the bed, and climbing on top of him. Arthur had to fight the urge to punch Percy right then and there, which was obviously not very civilised, and certainly didn't make any logical sense, as Merlin could do as he pleased. "Unless you two were... I can take the sofa instead. Or leave. My friend Gwaine—"

"Actually, Percy has dinner plans," Merlin interjected. "He was only here to help me with a project for class."

"Help you? You're the one who taught me how to shade properly. Such a talented artist," Percy said in admiration. He sidled up to Merlin and put an arm around him affectionately.

Arthur's back tightened. "Yes, well, if you'll pardon me, I need to get out of these wet clothes."

Arthur hurried to the bedroom and closed the door. The wind drove the rain against the windows. There'd be no relief from the darkness once the sun set. He ignored Merlin and Percy's muffled laughter and peeled off his shirt, then hung it up on his dresser door to dry. He told himself he could survive the remaining months, that it wasn't that long. More than just win the bet with Gwaine, he also needed to prove to himself that he could survive without his father's support, that he could make it in the world on his own. Merlin's messy flat and his even messier boyfriend—or whoever Percy was—were nothing more than another challenge to overcome.

He wiggled out of his wet trousers and stepped into sweats, hopping on one foot to maintain his balance. He stumbled over to Merlin's side of the room, which was as disgraceful as ever, and in the remaining daylight he stole a glance at the sketches Merlin had pinned up on the walls around his bed. There were some women Arthur guessed were friends or maybe models, as well as fantastical drawings of wizards and dragons. There was a knight, too, and as he leaned in closer to inspect the drawing, he tumbled onto Merlin's bed in surprise.

"Erm, what are you doing?"

Sprawling half-naked across Merlin's bed was what he was doing, but that hardly needed pointing out, and anyway, that was not the question at hand.

"Did you draw me?"

"Oh, um, not exactly. I wanted to draw a knight, and I needed a model, and well, of everyone I know you are the most knight-ish. I mean, you're strong, obviously, you know that, you're," Merlin motioned awkwardly to frame the width of his own chest, "very broad, and in general you're on the regal side. Shit, I'm an idiot, forget I said anything."

Arthur gaped at him. "But what about Percy?" He could easily imagine Percy as a barbarian on a horse, sword in hand, and if Merlin fancied him so much, he'd be the obvious choice.

"Percy?" Merlin's face fell. "You do like him, then? He wanted me to ask if you'd be interested in meeting up sometime."

"Me with Percy? But weren't you two, just now, you know," Arthur drew vague phantasms in the air with his hands.

"God, no. We're just classmates. Assigned to the same project."

"Oh," Arthur said.

"So you aren't interested, then?"

"Not my type at all."

"Oh."

They stared at each other. Arthur realised his hair was dripping all over Merlin's bed, and worse, that he was underdressed. It was getting cold. He jumped up and clapped his hands together.

"I'm starving. Should we order a pizza?" It would be dark soon, and he had no idea when the electricity would return. He tugged a t-shirt over his head and gave Merlin a friendly smack on the back of the shoulder.

"I'd love to." Merlin said, his eyes lingering at the spot Arthur's weight had impressed into the mattress. "Shall we?"

*

They talked for hours. Stupid things, mostly, which shape of pasta had the best texture, how irritating it was when hipsters sang with headphones on, why their shitty narrow lane was better than the poshest neighbourhood. Arthur railed on him for sleeping until two in the afternoon on weekends and Merlin teased him for being an uptight prat. In short, Arthur was having a lovely time, and he almost didn't want the electricity to return, with all the distractions it would bring.

"And that's why I'll never go near caviar again." Arthur polished off the last of his wine as Merlin giggled into his own glass. The candles they'd lit were burning low, and the rain had quieted. They'd picked the pizza box clean and were both very full and a little bit drunk. Arthur let his knee fall against Merlin's leg and dropped his head against the sofa behind him. He didn't even mind that they were sitting on the floor.

"Why are you really living here? I know you must have money," Merlin said. Their faces were so close together Arthur could almost taste the wine on Merlin's lips.

"Gwaine bet I couldn't survive without my father's support for six months." Arthur shook his head. "Although it's not just because of the bet that I wanted to live on my own."

"Then why?"

"It's hard to explain. A few months after we graduated from uni, Gwaine found in job as a bartender in one of the big clubs, said it would be a lark. Meanwhile I ended up with a plum internship at the top law firm in London. You know why that is?"

"Because you're smart and you work hard?"

Arthur laughed. "Try again."

"Because you're criminally attractive and one of the managing partners fell for you?"

Merlin's eyes shone bright in the candlelight, and even in the darkness Arthur could make out the glow of his cheeks. He wasn't that annoying. Maybe Arthur had never really thought so.

"You're lovely, you know?"

"Me? I'm just a skinny Irishman. You're the one who, I mean, it's you who—"

"God, just shut up."

Arthur took Merlin's face between his hands and pulled their mouths together. He couldn't remember the last time kissing had been this good, this new, and Arthur let himself get drawn in deeper, wrapping Merlin tight in his arms when Merlin half-climbed into his lap. Merlin was heavier than he looked, bony, too, and Arthur found he wanted to explore every inch of him, pull off his clothes and do whatever Merlin asked.

He got so lost in the sweetness of Merlin's kisses that it came as a shock when the microwave clock dinged on and bright fluorescent light flooded the sitting room again. They jumped apart as if they'd been caught by a disapproving parent, then laughed at their own stupidity, Merlin suddenly shy again, Arthur's heart beating madly, still hungry.

He dragged Merlin into the dark bedroom where they tumbled into Merlin's bed, so much more lived in than his own, and there they hurriedly stripped off their shirts, and still on their knees, clasped each other and kissed again, Arthur eager to feel Merlin's warm skin against his. He guided Merlin down on top of him, and they laughed into their kiss, their teeth knocking against each other, although neither seemed to mind.

Later, he wiped away the dampness on Merlin's forehead.

"We're a right mess."

"Yeah."

"Don't wanna go back to my own bed."

"So stay here."

Merlin's fingers trailed up Arthur's arms, giving him gooseflesh, and Arthur gave him an answering squeeze. He'd stay in Merlin's bed as long as Merlin would let him.

A few moments later, cleaned and dressed in dry clothes, Merlin and Arthur stared at the narrow bed, barely wide enough for Arthur to thrash about in when he was alone, never mind big enough for two.

"Might this," Arthur gestured back and forth between them, "be for more than one night?" He glanced at the picture of himself as a knight Merlin had drawn, and hoped he'd say yes.

"Could be, it depends I guess, if you're into it."

That wasn't a no.

"I'm into it," Arthur said, grinning, and Merlin smiled back wide enough for his dimples to show.

He tugged down the curtain that had divided their room in two, and with the impediment gone, they pushed their beds together to make one larger one. He returned the old blanket to its proper use and covered their new bed with it. They climbed inside, and as shy as Merlin usually was, he didn't hesitate to nestle himself in Arthur's arms.

"So," Merlin asked, "what exactly will Gwaine give you when you win this bet?"

Arthur thought it best not to answer.

**Author's Note:**

> So... we were brainstorming about the March theme for Tavern Tales, "Roommates, neighbours, and couch crashers," and then this happened. In fact it was a game of sorts. Altie wanted to draw flatmates in a domestic scene. Mabyn gave her some ideas about Arthur and Merlin's characters, and asked her to put an "obstacle" in the drawing--a question the writer had to answer. Altie took the word "obstacle" quite literally, inspired by Capra's "It Happened One Night," and added the curtain. We had a lot of fun doing this, I hope it shows!


End file.
